


Wizard's Holiday (Summer Edition)

by NightsMistress



Category: Young Wizards - Diane Duane
Genre: Gen, background Nita/Kit, friendship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightsMistress/pseuds/NightsMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Much to his great displeasure, the Powers that Be have decided that Ronan needs a vacation given how the last year went for him.  However, much like any wizard's holiday, Ronan's summer vacation ends up having far more mercenaries, misuse of condiments and fashion design than he had anticipated, and it's all Carmela's doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wizard's Holiday (Summer Edition)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_afterlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_afterlight/gifts).



> To all of my betas who know who they are and know how much they helped make this what it is. I really appreciate what you did to make this story far better than it started off being.

Ronan has to admit, the last year has been stressful, perhaps overwhelmingly so.

It still stings when he’s grounded, especially when he's told that it's for his own good and that it's more of a vacation. Ronan doesn't think he needs a vacation but instead something to do now that he's at loose ends, and he does not appreciate being sidelined without so much as a heads up.

“I’d thought you’d become too involved in the Mars project too quickly,” Mrs Smythe tells him as he stares at her incredulously. “Normally you’re more perceptive than this.”

This is true. He, of all people, should have recognized what it feels like for something extrinsic trying to impose itself on a wizard's thought processes, and it’s that thought that stops his tongue. If he's being truthful with himself, Ronan had thrown himself into the Martian intervention to have something to do now that he wasn't a vessel for the Winged Defender. In retrospect, going from being completely ignorant about the project to making first contact in a month was a rather rapid progression, especially if the wizard in question is also studying for his Leaving Certificate.

“You’re a good wizard,” Mrs Smythe says at the end. “It's not meant as a punishment. You've had a very long year.”

Ronan wonders when he became so transparent, and resolves to focus on rebuilding his wall of opaque inscrutability during his imposed and entirely unfair punishment.

Still, he consoles himself on his bus ride back home, it could be worse. In fact, he'd been in worse situations less than a month ago. There is nothing more ignoble than waking up after an appropriately dramatic heroic sacrifice on Star Wars bedsheets and realizing that death by way of impalement on fiery stick is terrible on your clothes. The most unfortunate part is that when he tells that story to people they seem far more fixated on the part where he killed himself, and Ronan doesn’t really want to talk about that at all.

He eventually concludes, after spending some time staring sulkily at the ceiling of his room while sprawled on his bed, that as far as punishments go, being forced to stay on Earth is actually not a bad one. It’s been a while since he’s had a chance to exercise his wizardry on Earth or even in Bray. On a more personal note, judging by the increasingly annoyed messages he’s been getting from his friends of late, he’s been neglectful at best.

“Yes, you have,” Majella tells him at the fried chicken place when the subject comes up. Her hair is currently purple with pink streaks, and Ronan is fascinated by the streaks of glitter she’s managed to put through it as well.

“Honestly, you’ve been a wanker for ages,” Aidan says, finishing off his chicken. “Well, more so than usual.”

“I missed it when you lot were too scared of my temper to give me this kind of attitude,” Ronan says without any heat. “Where’s Eva, anyway?”

“With her _boyfriend_ ,” Aidan says, with the sneer they reserve for people outside their comfortable clique who had the audacity to try and break into it without proving their worth first. It didn’t help that Liam attends a rival school to Aidan and Ronan, so they are obligated to dislike him out of principle.

“At least he’s not a blow-in,” Majella says pointedly. “Ronan can tell us all about that.”

“Oh come off it,” Ronan says. “That was a year ago. By anyone’s definition that’s practically ancient history.” 

“Hey Aidan,” Majella says. “Remember the rants we could get out of him about English oppression at the drop of a hat? Good times.”

“Things change!” Ronan says, waving his Coke around to prove his point. “I bet if we said a year ago that we’d be sitting around talking about any of this we’d all laugh.”

“No, we would. You’d be moody and sulk,” Majella says.

Ronan rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “The last year or so was trying, I accept, but we all remember your boyband days.”

“Let us never speak of those days,” Aidan agrees. “They were terrible and full of coordinated dance.”

“Besides,” Ronan says. “That’s what Eurovision is for.”

“Which reminds me, you stood us up for that this year,” Majella says.

“I _said_ I was sorry!” Ronan had been off-world with the Winged Defender, dealing with a group of space pirates trying to steal one of Jupiter's moons and the uncertain anxiety that he now knew was due to his being aware that the Pullulus was coming. Eurovision had been fairly low on his list of priorities, but unfortunately he hadn’t come up with a cover story that was less pathetic than ‘I forgot’.

“You better pencil it in for next year, or else we’re telling your mam you were off kissing an American,” Aidan says. It’s a real threat, as Aidan’s mother and Ronan’s mother have been friends since before Ronan and Aidan were born and Ronan’s mother always has nice things to say about Aidan. Ronan suspects that Aidan could come in with a decapitated body and Ronan’s mother would just ignore it, if not blame Ronan somehow.

“Or you’re in England kissing some English girl,” Majella chimes in.

“That’s just not right,” Ronan says. “Besides, I’ll start watching it and we’ll send … I don’t know, Jedward for two years in a row.”

“Don’t say such terrible things,” Aidan said. “We’ll have to stop associating with you then.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Majella says. “It’s not like Ronan can make things happen just by saying them. Otherwise England wouldn’t even _exist_ anymore.”

“I need better friends,” Ronan informs the wreckage of his fried chicken, carefully avoiding the topic about whether he could or could not sink England into the sea. 

“Who’d have you?” Majella says.

“You’re an insufferable prick,” Aidan says.

“Also melodramatic, cynical, argumentative and moody,” Eva says, coming in from behind Aidan. “Shove over, I need somewhere to sit.” Aidan shoves over obligingly, and Eva slides in, stealing a chicken wing from the wreckage of Aidan’s lunch.

“And I wonder why I’ve been out of contact this last month or so,” Ronan says.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Eva chides. “You’re our melodramatic prick.”

“Besides, we’d have to go find another and everyone else here has rubbish taste in music,” Majella adds in.

“Except Liam,” Eva says, loyal to the end. Ronan and Aidan both roll their eyes and she kicks them both under the table. Her boots make it surprisingly painful.

“Maybe this will be good for me,” he says to the ceiling of his bedroom later. “Refocus and all.”

He misses the times when the Winged Defender would answer back. He could use some guidance right now about just what he’s meant to be learning from this.

*

If Ronan was honest, he would have to admit that this is the most lenient grounding he's ever had. It's a strange circumstance where someone would want a punishment to be stricter, but if it were more strict then maybe Ronan could avoid being involved in the meetings about the Martian intervention and the implications of what they did. It’s not every day that a group of teenaged wizards resurrect an alien species, and the parallels between Aurilelde and Nita are enough to give anyone pause, let alone the even more disquieting possession of Kit by his Martian analogue.

Ronan’s involvement in the discussions is less about what he did and more about what he sensed, which is always a difficult thing to describe. What everyone at these meetings, and at this point Ronan has lost track of who attends, seems especially interested in is the words that Ronan uses to describe what he experienced. Ronan really does understand why -- the way that a wizard describes something can be very important in working out what something is -- but it is also terribly frustrating to have every word choice picked apart for meaning.

He hasn’t really asked what the others are questioned on. Some of it seems personal, especially as it relates to Nita and Kit, and some of it is simple embarrassment. He waves hello to S’reee when he sees her but tries not to talk about the meetings to her, because the way that he responded to the probes revealed far more about himself than Ronan likes people to know. He is sure that S’reee would understand, because understanding is what S’reee does best, but it’s easier to confess this to relative strangers than to a wizard whom he likes.

He runs into Carmela during one of these sessions, which is also uncomfortable. Ronan’s impressions of Carmela are that he likes her fine from a distance, but when she narrows in on him, she shifts into someone else that he’s not sure he admires or dislikes. 

“Uh, hi Carmela,” Ronan says.

“Ronan!” she says. “Where have you been hiding?”

“Ireland,” Ronan says with ironic emphasis, because much like any good joke, it’s actually true.

“That’s entirely too far away,” she says. “How am I meant to see you there? I tried using my worldgate but everyone got all uptight about it.”

Ronan recalls that they were less uptight as they were absolutely horrified. Ireland is often described as ‘delicate’ and more accurately described as ‘a wish and a prayer from becoming the backdrop to a heavy metal album’. The worldgate in Dublin was a carefully placed one, designed to sit at the one place where they could put a worldgate without risking Ireland falling into the sea.

From what Ronan remembers from the historical section of his manual, it took almost a decade for them to find a place where a worldgate wasn’t going to cause the end of Ireland as everyone knew it, as Ireland’s overlays keep shifting and changing, though there was some talk that the Lone Power had some involvement in this. It was, by all accounts, a painfully precise procedure with almost every expert in worldgate technologies working to shift the worldgate into place. Carmela, for all of her talents, doesn’t have the innate gift that the cats do in selecting worldgate points. He had been told, and fervently agreed, that Carmela really shouldn’t use her worldgate to come and see him. It hadn’t been a difficult thing to agree to: Ronan is quite fond of the patch of the world he lives in.

“Anyway,” Carmela says. “New couples are the worst.”

“Are they really that bad?” Ronan asks, genuinely curious. He didn’t need to ask who Carmela meant.

“They’re just — _puppies_ ,” Carmela says. “Adorable, underfoot puppies.”

“I can see how that would be a trial for you,” Ronan says, deadpan.

“Don’t take that sardonic attitude with me,” Carmela says. “You’ve been hiding in Ireland.”

Ronan thinks it might be rude to say that he was in hiding from her. Moreover, this is the longest conversation he’s had with her that hasn’t involved her either staring at him or acting like she wants to eat him, so he’s willing to take it.

“It’s just new relationship stuff,” he says. “The novelty will wear off soon, I’m sure.”

“I’m not,” Carmela says. “You’re welcome to come around and see.”

“Maybe later,” Ronan says. He doesn’t want to test his luck, and find out that the Carmela he’s speaking to now has been replaced with the Carmela he isn’t sure what to do about. He considers talking to either Nita or Kit about what is going on with her, but discards the idea. It wouldn’t do to show that kind of insecurity. “But I should probably get interrogated now.” 

He can't quite keep the wry smile off his face and Carmela pats his shoulder. “Next time you won’t break a planet,” she tells him.

Ronan rolls his eyes at her misrepresentation and goes to his meeting.

*

Darryl comes around most weekends now that everyone is on school break, making exaggerated faces of disgust at how affectionate Nita and Kit have become now that they have acknowledged what everyone has suspected for ages. Ronan takes great delight in telling Darryl that one day it’ll be him doing all the soppy smiles at someone, and when that happens Ronan plans to be there with a camera. Darryl responds by punching him on the arm and telling him he is a terrible friend.

Ronan is honestly more surprised at how good Darryl has gotten at punching than he is at Nita and Kit dating. Of course, there is the part where Nita fought someone empowered with the soul of a planet to win back her boyfriend, which does tend to make such things clear, whereas Darryl is still small for his age and has to reach up on his toes to be able to put his shoulder behind punching Ronan’s bicep properly. Ronan has to give him points for effort.

He also has to give Nita and Kit points for persistence, because he is pretty sure that if he was dating someone he had known for years as a friend first he would have rather died than have his sister there to pass commentary. A better person might have helped them hide from Carmela and give them a few hours in peace, but Ronan has come to terms with the fact that he’s much more interested in exploiting any opportunity that presents itself, purely because it’s absolutely hilarious.

One such opportunity was the third week after the Martian intervention, shortly after a debriefing session with Irina and the Planetary for Io. By now, it feels like every wizard in the solar system has had their chance to question them and Ronan wonders who will be speaking to them next. He’s considering a checklist, just so that at the end of this he can inform his senior of who they missed. 

It’s been a long session, and all the people who were involved, even peripherally, with the Martian intervention have been there at some point. By the end, Darryl’s looking a little frayed around the edges; being far from Earth for any period of time seems to drain him, and he gets worse the longer they’re away. It’s been several hours now and and they’re on Pluto. They’re so tired of being there that no one has even started the argument about whether Pluto is or isn’t a planet anymore.

Ronan suggests, once they’re all done, that they go back to Grand Central so that they can show him around all the non-touristy things. He doesn’t say that it has the additional advantage of being close to Baldwin, but judging by the grateful look Nita shoots him over Darryl’s head, the underlying message was picked up.

On arrival, Nita and Kit slip off to burn off some anxious tension, S’reee teleports to somewhere off the coast of Long Island to rejoin her pod, and Ronan is left with Darryl and Carmela. Darryl looks much better now and Ronan lets Carmela take them where she wills. It seems today is market day, though a quick question to Darryl makes it quite clear that every day is market day here.

“You should be here for the Greenmarket down in Union Square,” Carmela says. “We could go there soon. It’s only four stops down on the subway.”

“I wouldn’t bother,” Darryl says as they make their way through the market area of the terminal. “Ronan hates tourist stuff.” Given the crowds, Ronan wonders if he should put Darryl on a leash, if only to keep track of him. He decides against it on the grounds that it would be insulting to a fellow wizard, even if he is half Ronan’s size.

“No, I don’t,” Ronan says. “I hate boring tourist stuff. Besides, we have markets at home too.”

“Then why are we here?” Carmela says. “There are far better places to hang out in Manhattan. Central Park’s nice.”

Central Park, from what Ronan recalls, is a large, carefully footpathed area with just enough vegetation to give the perception of wilderness and far too many statues for his liking. He doubts that it is nice at all, but Darryl looks interested and that’s what decides it for Ronan. Carmela’s too good at what she does to betray her intentions but past experience suggests that this was also her reasoning as well.

“Fine,” Ronan says. “Show me your Central Park so that I can judge it.”

“First we have to find my little brother and Nita, who still demonstrates appalling taste in boyfriends,” Carmela says.

Ronan sends Kit a message asking him if he’s quite done yet, and after there’s no immediate reply he looks at the two of them and shrugs. “They’re still busy.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Carmela says. “We can make them unbusy in a hurry.”

Ronan has to laugh at her zeal. “All right,” he says. “They’ve had five minutes.”

Grand Central Station is so large, with high ceilings, because there are a number of hidden rooms stacked on top of one another up to the ceiling, where wizards of all species can meet and discuss business without having to leave the terminal. Ronan’s manual makes it quite clear that this is where they are, and judging by their busy status, they shouldn’t be interrupted.

“Should we go to them or bring them down here?” Carmela asks, squinting up at the ceiling. Ronan wonders for not the first time if everyone is entirely sure that Carmela is not a wizard because he would swear on a Bible that Carmela is looking at approximately where Kit and Nita were.

“We go to them,” he says after thinking about it. The rooms are soundproofed, which is normally to ensure that Earth kept its sevarfrith status while allowing wizards to conduct their business. It just also means that there will be far fewer witnesses to Nita’s temper when she lets it fly, as she will inevitably do.

Ronan and Carmela take Darryl’s hands and let him teleport them up to Nita and Kit, who, to Ronan’s amusement, are doing the most chaste kissing he has seen in a while. They pull away from each other with a start.

“Hello!” Carmela carols. “We were bored.”

Kit looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm, and Nita’s hands are balled into fists. 

“Do you _mind_?” Kit asks of Carmela, who beams at him.

“Nope!”

Nita turns to Ronan. “Seriously, we were gone _five minutes_ and you had to teleport up here?”

“That was me,” Darryl says, completely unapologetically. Ronan gestures with his hands open, shrugging helplessly. It’s an act that Nita sees right through, and she narrows her eyes at him.

“Though it was worth it. That technique was awful,” Ronan says, not even trying to hide his grin. “I’d be right ashamed to kiss someone like that.”

“When did you guys start teaming up?” Kit asks. It’s more of a moan than an aggrieved demand, and Ronan finds it immeasurably funny how Kit is clearly aware that Carmela likes to rile him and yet bites every time. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Honestly, yes,” Ronan says. “But this seemed like more fun.”

“I knew we’d find that sense of fun of yours eventually,” Carmela says.

“Excuse me?” Ronan folds his arms at this, and scowls at Carmela’s smile. “That’s hardly fair.”

Nita interrupts at this point with “Guys. You were here for a reason?” 

“Actually, we’re good,” Ronan says, unfolding his arms as he shrugs. “It’s nice up here. Good view.”

“Yeah,” Darryl says, looking down. “Look at all the people down there. You guys are missing out, kissing instead of people watching.”

“Guys,” Kit says. “I like you all, but we were really busy.”

“And you can be even more busy in Central Park,” Carmela says sweetly.

“‘ _Mela_ ,” Nita says, and it’s clear that she’s reaching the limits of her patience by the way she drags out the vowels.

“How about ten minutes?” Kit says. 

“Fine,” Carmela says. “But I will be asking my pet wizards to bring me up here if you’re not ready.”

Kit brightens at Ronan’s annoyed expression, though he does a good job of pretending otherwise.

“You are the worst friend,” Ronan says and Kit looks innocent.

“You did start it,” Nita points out. “Now go. Ten minutes.”

Ronan comes and gets them at seven and a half, because calling him Carmela’s pet wizard was just unfair. From Nita and Kit’s innocent looks, they knew he would come early and had deliberately stopped early to spite him, which just made things worse. Darryl and Carmela laughing at his expression when he came down with them was just the icing on the bad mood cake.

*

Ronan is wrapping up some wizardry in the Atlantic Ocean when he receives a message from Carmela that is two photographs of turquoise cravats and a caption of ‘which is better?’. Ronan doesn’t hold strong views on cravats, except that he wouldn’t wear one personally and definitely not in turquoise, so he asks her what she’s doing.

Apparently she’s watching the shopping channel and sharing her finds with her friend’s list.

“This might have more impact if I weren’t in the middle of the ocean,” Ronan says.

“That’s easily solved. Come over,” is the immediate reply.

It’s not a bad idea, now that he thinks about it. It’s been about two weeks or so since he saw his American friends and that seems odd when they had spent weeks in each other’s back pockets on Mars. He says goodbye to S’reee and thanks her for their partnership today and makes his way to Kit’s living room, where Carmela is sitting in front of the television flipping between channels. 

“Finished so soon?” she asks.

“We were already finished,” Ronan says, sitting down. “You’re this bored?”

“I’m not bored,” Carmela says. “I’m sharing my finds with the world.”

“We just call that bored in my part of the world,” Ronan says.

Carmela slides across the bowl of popcorn. “I found a whole line of neon clothing,” she announces.

“That sounds like an atrocity,” Ronan says, taking a handful. “I assume you’ve got some already queued up to show me?” He takes a closer look at the television, which is quite a bit different to the ones he is used to seeing. For one, it’s a lot more interactive, as Carmela’s able to design outfits on the side. “Also, what have you done to your telly, anyway?”

“Kit did it with his witchy voodoo,” Carmela says, waving her fingers in what Ronan supposes is her approximating wizardry.

“Witchy voodoo,” Ronan says, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not sure I’m okay with that descriptor. But let’s move on to the important issues: what do you have to show me?”

Carmela has an entire back catalog to show him, as it turns out, and Ronan is fascinated in spite of himself at the sheer variety of clothing options for those who want to be able to find their clothing in pitch darkness. He says as much to Carmela, who suggests that maybe he could consider overcoming his painful color allergy. Ronan suggests that he will do that when Carmela wears blue and green together.

Kit comes down as they are trying to design an outfit that is as eye-searingly bright as it is defiant of all sartorial logic and stares at the television screen for a long minute.

“What are you two doing?” he asks finally.

“Clothes shopping,” Carmela says breezily. “With a side of fashion design.”

Kit looks at the television outfit, and back at Ronan. Ronan supposes the contrast is rather interesting. “Does he even know what colors are? I’m surprised he hasn’t had to wear his stupid sunglasses yet with all the neon you have there.” 

At this Ronan frowns, as insulting his sunglasses is a terrible offence.

“He’s the only one of your friends who has any fashion sense at all. Even if he does need to be introduced to this novel concept of colors,” Carmela says.

“There is nothing wrong with wearing black,” Ronan says, comforted that at least Carmela recognizes that what he wears is actually a fashion statement.

“You are tragically convinced of this because you’re afraid of polychromatic change. But I am here for you and your sartorial revolution.”

“She’s all yours,” Ronan says to Kit, leaning back into the sofa. “I think she’s got a good run in the neon green lederhosen though.”

“I ordered it for you already,” Carmela says. “I thought about a set for Ronan too, but he said no.”

“Why did you say no for you and not for me?”

“Because,” Ronan says. “You weren’t here. And you know about discretion and valor.”

“I don’t know,” Kit says. “If anyone needs to be introduced to colors, it’s you.”

“That’s true, but there’s only so much I can do to help Ronan when he won’t help himself,” Carmela says. “Now what are your thoughts on pink fedoras?”

“They shouldn’t exist,” Kit says, going to the fridge and pulling out a soda. “Much like your account on the shopping channel.”

Ronan looks at the television, squinting. “I’m not sure they do,” he says after a moment’s careful consideration. “Carmela, that’s not what you think it is.”

Carmela’s attention is drawn from Kit back to the television, where she squints at the television for the second and then picks up the remote controller and starts dialing. “Oh, thank you, I’ve been looking for one of those.”

“Looking for one of — oh my God.” Kit pulls the remote out of Carmela’s hands. “You can’t order that!”

“No, don’t stop her,” Ronan says. “I want to see what she does with it.”

“Give it to a friend, of course,” Carmela says. “It’s not like I have the right appendages for that, _or_ the neurological adaptations.”

Kit looks at Ronan in search of an ally. Ronan shakes his head. He is of the view that if Carmela wants to give her alien friends sex toys, it is best for him to stand well clear of it and have popcorn if possible.

“When she ends up causing a revolution I hope you’re sorry for helping,” Kit says as a parting shot before retreating back to his room.

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” Ronan says. 

“It’s because I interrupted him with Nita again this morning,” Carmela explains.

“That would do it,” Ronan says, returning his attention to the television where the multi-tentacled host was advocating that everyone should buy ‘genuine Earth curry powder, guaranteed to blow your taste facilitators'. “Is there really a market for curry powder?”

“Ronan, there is a market for everything.”

“But, _curry powder_. That’s not even spicy,” Ronan says, gesturing at the television. “Not to mention that’s far too expensive for what they’re getting.”

“It’s a status thing. Everyone knows that we have the most hardcore tastebuds in the galaxy. No one actually eats it.”

“I’m pretty sure no one eats it here either,” Ronan says. “Why do you even know this?”

Carmela just smiles enigmatically. Ronan is convinced that this will come back to haunt him in the near future, based purely on that smile.

*

Ronan is woken up at seven in the morning and realizes three things: his phone is ringing, it’s only barely daylight, and he is already hungover. It’s not a good start for the day, and it only gets better when he finally manages to fish out his phone from the pile of clothes next to his bed and squints enough to see who the caller is.

“What have you done?” he asks.

“That’s not very nice,” Carmela says, her voice crackling a little over the line. Ronan doesn’t even want to think about what that would mean for where she is; his phone is set up to receive calls from anywhere in the solar system easily.

“Nor is calling me this early in the day,” Ronan says. “I shouldn’t be up for five hours yet.”

“Really? Because it’s pretty late where you are.”

“Carmela. What have you done?”

“Well,” she says. “There may be a tiny problem and I may be arrested right now.”

“Arrested,” Ronan says, completely devoid of any inflection.

“Yes, and Nita and Kit are doing some diplomatic thing so I couldn’t call them, so I called you.”

“Ugh,” Ronan says, sitting up and immediately regretting it. “Where are you?”

The location Carmela gives is so obscure that Ronan has to check his manual to be certain it’s a real location, and the transit calculations make his head hurt more than it already does. What does catalyze him into action, rather than telling Carmela to cool her heels and wait for Kit to free up, is that the judicial system emphasises speed over accuracy and it’s possible that Carmela could be facing a lengthy time at the salt filtration plant.

He sends Kit an urgent message, but Carmela was quite right about their status. Short of an apocalypse, there wasn’t much hope of Kit getting it in the next few hours.

“Can you stay out of trouble for half an hour?” he says, checking his room for his trousers and shoes. "I have to do a two-stage transit."

“I figured that was the case,” Carmela says. “I think I can hold out until then.” There’s a muffled conversation where Ronan catches one word in five but it sounds like she’s told them that her character representative would be there soon.

“Your faith in my ability to lie without lying is impressive,” Ronan says, deadpan. “I’ll do my best to not tell them what you’re really like. I’ll be in touch.”

Under the circumstances, he considers it reasonable to teleport straight to the Crossings and go from there.

He wishes he hadn’t done that on arriving at the Crossings. Teleporting long distances is often disorientating, and teleporting while hungover is even worse.

“Hey, Sker’ret,” he says. “Could you give me a transit? It’s urgent.” He adds the coordinates and sends them off. Sker’ret’s reply is immediate and amused, wondering what would be there to interest him and that he needs better hobbies.

“Better friends, you mean,” Ronan says aloud after he reads it, walking towards Bay 10950. “Ones that don’t wake me up at seven in the morning.”

On arrival at what translates to Orion Station, Ronan learns, finally, what Carmela has allegedly done. It seems that she was completely telling the truth about human tastebuds being legendary, and she had been involved in organizing a party where they ate buffalo wings. Unfortunately for everyone, hot sauce is considered to be a grade A biological hazard on the station, and so once station security got wind of it, they shut the whole thing down and arrested everyone. It was, from reading the charge sheet, a remarkably busy party until then.

“Don’t look at me,” Ronan says as the police officer on the counter narrows hir seventeen eyes at him. “I think they’re disgusting.” He sighs then. “I’ll take her.”

He gives his name and promises that he will ensure that she never visits the station again and especially will never visit the station again bearing hot sauce and talk of a culinary revolution which, he understands, was the most offensive part of the party.

Carmela looks up as the cell door is opened and winces. “You look terrible,” she informs him.

Ronan catches his reflection in the metallic walls and has to agree. He then tries to smooth down the back of his hair, which is sticking up at an unfortunate angle.

“I’m hungover,” he says, scowling. “Come on, let’s go. You’re not allowed back here, by the way. I had to promise you wouldn’t come back.” A wizard’s promise means something and Ronan is very resentful that he had been called on to make it.

“That’s fine,” Carmela says. “They weren’t very good at making hot wings anyway.”

“How could you _tell_ ,” Ronan mutters, escorting her to the transit point. “They’re terrible and overly spicy _anyway_.”

“That’s how they should be,” Carmela tells him as they arrive back at the Crossings. “I can take it from here.”

Carmela’s something of a local celebrity on the Crossings, and Ronan’s feeling too tired and sick to argue with her, so he leaves her with Sker’ret with an admonition to keep out of trouble for the next seven hours.

He wakes up five hours later with several messages: three from Kit, two from Nita, and one from Carmela. He reassures Kit and Nita that everything is fine and that no one is doing any stints in salt mines or anything of the sort.

Carmela’s message is an invitation to an exclusive party somewhere in Manhattan. It’s as close as he’ll get to an apology, he supposes, and he accepts the invite.

*

The party is enough like the ones that Ronan goes to that sometimes he forgets that he’s in the minority, species wise. The music isn’t in English, it’s loud enough that he can’t listen to it in the Speech as the sound’s distorted, the lighting is dim without being too dark to see, and he hasn’t been carded once. The last one is the most important thing, because Ronan refuses to not drink just because he’s in the States and they have backward rules about drinking.

He’s drunk enough to be talkative and he is talking with a Rirhait that Carmela set him up with about the last Gaelic football match and how the winning side was robbed of a fair victory by a bad call by the umpire. “Not that it _matters_ ,” Ronan says, taking a drink from his beer. “They were always going to win. But now there’s a shadow hanging over it. It would have been a _glorious_ game otherwise." It’s an enjoyable night, which is of course why Ronan should have expected the mercenaries to turn up.

They are a fairly rag-tag bunch, from an organization Ronan’s never heard of, and they want Carmela and the destruction of all ranch sauce on the planet. “You’ve got to be fecking _kidding_ me,” Ronan says after they get their demands out, and goes to find her in amongst the throng of panicking teenagers and twentysomethings of various species. A few recognize him as a wizard, which just meant they get out of the way faster. Ronan spares a moment to wonder just what on Earth, or any planet this side of Antares for that matter, they had to fear from _him_.

Carmela is tucked away in an alcove with what looks like a sentient gas cloud, and as Ronan approaches it glows pink in response to something Carmela has said. Ronan clears his throat loudly. The gas cloud turns to gray, and then disperses. Carmela looks unperturbed. 

“There’s a group of mercenaries that want to kidnap you,” Ronan says, without any preamble. He thinks adding the ranch sauce demand would just complicate things. “I thought you should know.”

“All right,” Carmela says nonchalantly. Ronan makes a note to ask Kit later just what his sister’s been doing when not dragging Ronan around to look at things, because he is pretty sure calm and collected is not the normal response to attempted alien abduction. “Fortunately for us I went shopping on the weekend. Have you seen my new toy?”

Ronan winces as he has seen Carmela’s new toy and, more importantly, what a portable dark matter generator could be used for. He’s seen the footage from the last time Carmela handled a mercenary attack and while the Crossings were grateful he is not sure the club here would share the same sentiment.

“Uh,” Ronan says. “Maybe a little less overkill.” He looks around the area, which has too many civilians who do not look sanguine about the current turn of events. “I can start teleporting people out...” He starts to work out just how he can do that without completely revealing the existence of wizardry to the nearby neighborhood. He starts chewing his bottom lip as he realizes that it’s going to be very, very difficult. He is really starting to regret the last few beers he’d had.

“Let me handle this,” Carmela says, noticing his expression and climbing onto the table. “Hey! I’m over here! Come and get me!” Once Carmela has their attention, she jumps off, grabs his hand and they push through the crowd out into the alley by the side of the building. He reaches into his claudication to pull out a stunner. “Do you need anything? Something _not_ your new weapon because I’m not sure we can really use that here.”

Carmela answers by producing her hair curler-stunner from her purse. “I don’t think anyone would notice if I did use it. This is New York,” she says. 

“I don’t even know what that is supposed to mean,” Ronan says.

Then the fight is on. One wizard, one normal human, and twenty mercenaries, with a winning condition being the normal human not being captured. Ronan isn’t sure these are good odds but he’s going to try anyway.

He thinks he’s doing all right, right up until the stunner is knocked out of his hands and he can hear a faint whirring sound near his ear. Given that disintegrators are meant to be mostly silent, Ronan is not surprised when he turns his head to see the business end of one very close to his face. He supposes he should be afraid, but instead he’s just annoyed that he’s been caught like this, and he punches the mercenary in the face, right on the snout.

It squawks in indignant rage, a squawk that is cut off by someone shooting it with a stunner. Ronan is caught in the corona and spends a few valuable seconds blinking dizzily.

“Did you really just punch him?” Carmela says, close to his ear. “That’s going to hurt tomorrow.”

Ronan looks down at his hand, which is already bleeding from where he hit the armour and teeth. “Probably,” he says. “But it was worth it.” He turns to Carmela, who is putting away her stunner and looking very pleased with herself. 

“You’re adorable when you’re drunk,” she says. “Also I got the other mercenaries.” 

“I am _not_ ,” Ronan says, frowning, unsure which part he was objecting to. He looks around the alley. “Wow. I can't believe they sent a whole squad after you. They must really like you." He considers whether to teleport them back to their ship, but decides that it would be wiser to notify someone who hadn't been drinking to send them home. He sends a message to the nearest wizard, tags them with a beacon, and considers his duty done.

“Oh, and this is for you,” she adds, handing him a hard light card. “Rril asked me to give this to you when I was setting you two up. I just remembered.”

Ronan flips the card between his fingers. The cards have become something of a novelty among adolescents across the galaxy, given that they are small, easy to customise for color, scent and sound, and, most importantly, easy to pass off as something not date-related to any nosy adults. Ronan had seen a few around, but hadn't gotten around to making some of his own. Now, he wishes that he had, if only to exchange them with bizarrely charming Rirhait boys he met at parties. “You got a nickname out of him?” he says finally.

“I’m persistent,” she says. “You owe me though, for ruining my date.”

“No, I think we’re equal,” Ronan says. “Remember how we ended up here in the first place?”

His fingers slip on the card, triggering the music player. A tinny song starts playing from it and Ronan stares at it in dawning horror.

“It’s not. No _way_ ,” Ronan says.

“It is,” Carmela says, delighted.

“I am not calling someone who programs his cards to sing ‘Call Me Maybe’.” Ronan breaks the card in half and watches it disappear into light motes between his hands. “You get one of those too?”

“No, because it was kind of boring,” Carmela says, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe next time.”

“You’re assuming there’s a next time,” Ronan says.

“Sure there will be. You’re fun to take out.” She links her arm with his. “And now, you’re going to learn about another New York staple: the taxi!”

“Are you saying I’m drunk?” Ronan says.

Carmela gives him a wry look as he trips. “The implication was there. Also did you know your accent gets stronger when you’re drunk?”

“No,” Ronan says.

“I’m not surprised,” Carmela says, flagging down a cab. Ronan decides to go along with it. New York is Carmela’s home turf after all.

*

The evening before Lughnasadh Ronan's status in his manual changes from 'sabbatical' to 'active', but is asked to stay in Ireland for the night. He asks Mrs Smythe if she knows if anything is going to happen tonight, and she looks at him carefully for a long minute before asking if he knows something.

He doesn’t, not anymore, and he’s well rid of it to his mind. It would be wrong to say that the Winged Defender has brought him nothing but trouble. Like most challenges wizardry has brought him, the experience was bittersweet and sometimes he wants Him back, but this isn’t something he tells anyone. Instead he heaves a martyred sigh and tries not to make faces as he is told to stay close in case they need him. For what isn’t made clear; the Spear is being wielded by Its rightful owner, and the Champion is somewhen else, but Ronan believes it’s best not to test his luck so soon.

He thinks about it on the bus home from Enniskerry, along with an idle wish that he could own a car and not be so dependent on the public transport system because he is so very tired of having to stand the entire ride, and he concludes that he has absolutely no idea what is going on but he wants it to stop already.

His day continues along its very peculiar course when, on returning home, he sees a note on the fridge telling him that when his mother finishes her shift they will be having a talk. Ronan has learned never to trust that talks with his mother will go in a way that is favorable to him, but he is clueless as to what it is that she wants to talk to him about.

His mental checklist of things he and his mother don’t see eye to eye on is cut short when he opens the door to Carmela sitting on the floor of his closet reading a magazine.

Ronan drops his bag and Carmela looks up.

“Hey. You really should clean your closet out, this is disgusting.”

“How did you get here?” Ronan says. 

“The stairs,” Carmela says. “I explained to your mom that we were working on a school project.”

“Carmela,” Ronan says carefully after a moment’s shocked silence. “I go to an all boys school.”

“Really?”

“ _Really_. Also we’re on school break.”

Carmela’s look of contrition doesn’t last long. “So, you’re not grounded anymore.”

“I will be if you stay here too long.” Ronan doesn't correct her about how technically he had never been grounded; now that he's got the perspective that a month brings, he can admit that he had overreacted to something that really had been for his benefit.

“Rude.”

He wants to tell to go away because today of all days is a bad day, but their friendship is still too new for that, he supposes. It wouldn’t be fair to her to lash out at her because to her Lughnasadh is just a day with an odd name where something strange happened last year. Ronan knows he’s less prosaic about it, and he thinks it’s quite reasonable to be given that it was him who was at the center of the storm last year, but he also knows that he never told her what it was like being the host to a Power greater and wilder than he knew the words to describe. Then he wants to laugh because this kind of thoughtful consideration of his actions is new to him. He is more used to burning his bridges behind him and learning to swim when he has to.

“News travels fast,” Ronan says instead. “Are you planning on staying in there forever? I wouldn’t.”

Carmela carefully picks her way through the clothes, sporting equipment, and books Ronan had scattered on his floor, before claiming the only clear spot on his bed. Ronan shrugs, taking the desk chair.

“Kit thinks it’s very unfair that he has a reputation from the Mars thing and you don't,” Carmela says in way of explanation. “He’s been talking about it all morning.”

“Well, he did break a planet,” Ronan says reasonably. “I only broke it a little. It’s proportionate.”

“You could always scale up,” Carmela says. “Start with the Moon.”

“I like the Moon,” Ronan says. “Also it would make a mess of the tides.”

“I think I’ve heard this before,” Carmela says, tapping her lower lip with her finger. “I think it was with Kit. Tell me, Ronan, are you mooning after a satellite?”

Ronan groans. “That was terrible and you’re not allowed to make puns like that in my house again.”

“You didn’t say no.”

“I’m pretending you didn’t say that because it was so terrible,” Ronan says. “Nita has a lot to answer for, you making astronomy jokes like that.”

Carmela dismisses his complaint with a wave of her hand. “What are you doing tonight?”

Ronan makes a face. “I’m staying here.”

“Right here, in this room?” Carmela says, raising her eyebrows. “From what your mom told me, you never do that.”

Ronan scowls at this. “I can see this talk with my mam tomorrow is going to be great.”

“I was careful,” Carmela says. Ronan looks at her. “Kit told me. Your parents don’t know about your wizardry. Isn’t that hard?”

Ronan shrugs because if he answers it would have to be truthful. He wasn’t afraid of the initial conversation because even if it degenerated into conflict, Ronan could handle that. It was after that scared him.

“Though I can see where you get your chip on your shoulder about Americans,” Carmela goes on.

“Da’s worse,” Ronan says with a wry smile. “It’s one of the things we don’t agree with.” One of many, he doesn’t say. Exposure to Nita and her friends have widened his horizons more than he would have imagined a year ago. “Anyway, I mean Ireland, though here in Bray would be a good idea too.”

“Well, luckily for you I have an errand for Nita,” Carmela says. “So you can accompany me to visit her aunt. I need a native guide after all.”

“My rates are reasonable,” Ronan says. “Though you do know it’s eight miles each way, right?”

“I wore my comfortable shoes,” Carmela says, extending one leg to show off her sneakers. “You, on the other hand, will have problems.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ronan says while rummaging around on his desk for a notepad and a pen. “Give me a minute to leave a note so that my parents don’t send a search party after me.” 

Ronan leaves a note telling them that he’s off on an errand to Mrs Callahan and meets Carmela outside. Carmela is looking around his street with open interest.

“This isn’t what I expected,” she says. Her lips twitch. “Not as much thatching.”

“Tourists,” Ronan says in exasperation. Then he notices Carmela’s grin. “You’re terrible,” he says, leading her out onto the road.

The conversation’s kept light: mostly about what Nita and Kit are doing lately. Apparently Dairine had arranged for them to be wearing mascot outfits for some reason, among other things. Ronan decides not to question what Americans do with their time off, because he’s not sure he would like the answer. He is disappointed he missed seeing Nita get steamed about it though.

“What are we even dropping off?” Ronan asks as they near the end of their walk. “Just out of curiosity here, because if it’s a nuclear weapon I think I should know.”

“It’s just a book,” Carmela says.

“A book containing instructions to build a weapon to bore down to the Earth’s core?”

“Do you have those here?” Carmela sounds entirely too interested.

“No,” Ronan says.

“Maybe you should,” Carmela says. “It would make libraries more interesting.”

“Yeah, because what we need is the library from the Unseen University,” Ronan says.

Carmela doesn’t say anything to this, instead pulling the book out of her bag. Ronan tries to read the title but it’s too dark to see. “Do you think we can drop this off and go?” she says as they walk up to the house.

Ronan tries not to laugh. “I think that is extremely unlikely.”

Ronan was entirely correct: Annie Callahan invited them in for tea.

“I’ll be up most of the night,” she reassures them over their tea. “You’re welcome to stay.” 

“That’s really nice of you, Mrs C,” Carmela says. “But I promised I’d kidnap Ronan and show him a good time.”

Ronan blinks. “Promised who?” For a terrifying moment he wonders if it’s his mother.

“Nita, of course,” Carmela says.

“How is she doing?” Mrs Callahan says, and Carmela shares some stories about Nita and Kit. Ronan, having heard the stories before, concentrates and still can’t sense the Spear. That’s reassuring, because if it were near in space or time Ronan would know. Carrying a weapon like that leaves its own legacy.

Ronan and Carmela make their escape before Mrs Callahan offers them a second cup of tea.

“You knew that would happen,” Carmela says.

“It’s polite,” Ronan says, hoisting himself up onto the fence near the road. He holds onto the railing with his hands while he leans back to look at the sky. It’s a clear night, and Ronan thinks that if he squints, he might be able to see the Crossings. Carmela has flopped on the grass on the other side of the fence and Ronan just shakes his head.

“You’re going to get all covered in grass stains and mud like that,” he says.

“No, I won’t,” Carmela says. “My clothes don’t get dirty unless I want them to.”

“That is a shameless waste of wizardry,” Ronan says. “Where did you even find someone to do that for you?”

“The Crossings. Nita says she’s going to pick it apart eventually.”

Ronan just shakes his head again, avoiding the pun. “You’re all mad,” he says finally.

“You’re jealous.”

Ronan can’t argue with that, because he really is. Instead he falls silent, stargazing from the fence. 

“Why did you really come?” Ronan eventually asks, looking sidelong at her. She’s taking photographs of the stars, which he supposes he should have seen coming.

“Like I said, August is when all the exciting things happened last year,” Carmela says after she puts her phone back into her pocket. “In case it happened, I wanted to be here.” She sits up at this and mock pouts at him. “Which it didn’t. I hung around all night and nothing dreadful or exciting or both happened. You owe me!”

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you. And if we hurry we can be fashionably late to the annual Festival of Stellar Lights.” The festival is the equivalent of a New Year celebration on the Crossings only the fireworks were natural due to a series of comets that pass through on a yearly basis. Now that Ronan thinks about it, it seems like a good idea. Then he remembers what is waiting for him at home.

“You know,” Ronan says slowly. “I’m supposed to catch up with my mam at some point.”

“Oh yeah,” Carmela says. “We can skip it.”

Ronan glances down at his watch, then shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.” He laughs a little. It’s surprisingly loud in the dark. “The longer I delay that talk, the better.” He slides off the fence and offers a hand to Carmela.

"Avoidance? Not like you," Carmela says, accepting his hand.

"I wouldn't have to avoid her if you hadn't come to sit in my closet," Ronan says, pulling her up. "You're a terrible friend to me."

“I wouldn't have to sit in your closet if you would clean your room," Carmela says. "Also, you've been waiting to tell someone that, haven't you?"

Ronan groans. "Keep that up and you're on your own."

Carmela snorts in amusement. "As if you would leave me here."

Ronan can't argue with that either, and so doesn't as they walk back into town.


End file.
